Chapter 12
913 Words
A MEETING AND THE RESULT
The July sun shone upon the Place de la Trinite, which was almost
deserted. Du Roy drew out his watch. It was only three o'clock: he
was half an hour too early. He laughed as he thought of the place of
meeting. He entered the sacred edifice of La Trinite; the coolness
within was refreshing. Here and there an old woman kneeled at
prayer, her face in her hands. Du Roy looked at his watch again. It
was not yet a quarter past three. He took a seat, regretting that he
could not smoke. At the end of the church near the choir; he could
hear the measured tread of a corpulent man whom he had noticed when
he entered. Suddenly the rustle of a gown made him start. It was
she. He arose and advanced quickly. She did not offer him her hand
and whispered: "I have only a few minutes. You must kneel near me
that no one will notice us."
She proceeded to a side aisle after saluting the Host on the High
Altar, took a footstool, and kneeled down. Georges took one beside
it and when they were in the attitude of prayer, he said: "Thank
you, thank you. I adore you. I should like to tell you constantly
how I began to love you, how I was conquered the first time I saw
you. Will you permit me some day to unburden my heart, to explain
all to you?"
She replied between her fingers: "I am mad to let you speak to me
thus--mad to have come hither--mad to do as I have done, to let you
believe that this--this adventure can have any results. Forget it,
and never speak to me of it again." She paused.
He replied: "I expect nothing--I hope nothing--I love you--whatever
you may do, I will repeat it so often, with so much force and ardor
that you will finally understand me, and reply: 'I love you too.'"
He felt her frame tremble as she involuntarily repeated: "I love you
too."
He was overcome by astonishment.
"Oh, my God!" she continued incoherently, "Should I say that to you?
I feel guilty, despicable--I--who have two daughters--but I cannot--
cannot--I never thought--it was stronger than I--listen--listen--I
have never loved--any other--but you--I swear it--I have loved you a
year in secret--I have suffered and struggled--I can no longer; I
love you." She wept and her bowed form was shaken by the violence of
her emotion.
Georges murmured: "Give me your hand that I may touch, may press
it."
She slowly took her hand from her face, he seized it saying: "I
should like to drink your tears!"
Placing the hand he held upon his heart he asked: "Do you feel it
beat?"
In a few moments the man Georges had noticed before passed by them.
When Mme. Walter heard him near her, she snatched her fingers from
Georges's clasp and covered her face with them. After the man had
disappeared, Du Roy asked, hoping for another place of meeting than
La Trinite: "Where shall I see you to-morrow?"
She did not reply; she seemed transformed into a statue of prayer.
He continued: "Shall I meet you to-morrow at Park Monceau?"
She turned a livid face toward him and said unsteadily: "Leave me--
leave me now--go--go away--for only five minutes--I suffer too much
near you. I want to pray--go. Let me pray alone--five minutes--let
me ask God--to pardon me--to save me--leave me--five minutes."
She looked so pitiful that he rose without a word and asked with
some hesitation: "Shall I return presently?"
She nodded her head in the affirmative and he left her. She tried to
pray; she closed her eyes in order not to see Georges. She could not
pray; she could only think of him. She would rather have died than
have fallen thus; she had never been weak. She murmured several
words of supplication; she knew that all was over, that the struggle
was in vain. She did not however wish to yield, but she felt her
weakness. Some one approached with a rapid step; she turned her
head. It was a priest. She rose, ran toward him, and clasping her
hands, she cried: "Save me, save me!"
He stopped in surprise.
"What do you want, Madame?"
"I want you to save me. Have pity on me. If you do not help me, I am
lost!"
He gazed at her, wondering if she were mad.
"What can I do for you?" The priest was a young man somewhat
inclined to corpulence.
"Receive my confession," said she, "and counsel me, sustain me, tell
me what to do."
He replied: "I confess every Saturday from three to six."
Seizing his arm she repeated: "No, now, at once--at once! It is
necessary! He is here! In this church! He is waiting for me."
The priest asked: "Who is waiting for you?"
"A man--who will be my ruin if you do not save me. I can no longer
escape him--I am too weak--too weak,"
She fell upon her knees sobbing: "Oh, father, have pity upon me.
Save me, for God's sake, save me!" She seized his gown that he might
not escape her, while he uneasily glanced around on all sides to see
if anyone noticed the woman at his feet. Finally, seeing that he
could not free himself from her, he said: "Rise; I have the key to
the confessional with me."
- Writer
